


he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist

by catteo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes surviving is the hardest thing to do</p>
<p>
  <i>use it as a mask to keep you in the dark,<br/>When the shadow of the moon won’t do</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist

**Author's Note:**

> I've become slightly obsessed by the idea of Skye seeking out Ward and Agent 33/Kara and the three of them becoming a little renegade gang of misfits. This is my first fic in the fandom. Yikes. Thanks go to [redbrunja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/pseuds/redbrunja) for the cheerleading and being there to bounce ideas off. And for reminding me that Skyeward ALWAYS requires smut. Just to warn you, there’s Coulson bashing, Hydra/SHIELD comparisons and I love Grant Ward in irrational ways.

‘Figuring it out’ ends up being considerably easier than Kara thought it would be.

 

Kara half carries and half pulls Ward out of the Hydra base, as buildings shake and chunks of rock rain down from the sky. She wonders if it’s the end of the world and if, finally, they’re all about to pay for their sins. Ward’s a dead weight around her shoulders, but the only thing that’s keeping her going is the promise of a future she saw in his eyes. 

 

_So you’re free_

 

The words echo through the empty spaces in her memory. She pauses for a moment, gets a firmer grip on Ward’s waist, relieved when he grunts in pain, and finally manages to get his feet under him. Somehow he manages to focus, despite the rapidly spreading crimson stain across his torso, putting one unsteady foot in front of the other. He’s moving with purpose now though, so Kara follows him to the jet, programs in the coordinates that he gives her and flies them into their unknown future.

 

+++++

 

It’s hard at the beginning. Neither of them really sleeps and they circle each other, wary, neither one prepared to fully trust the other. She doesn’t tell him that she knows his story; that Whitehall told her all about Garret’s little toy soldier. Kara looks at him and sees nothing more than a broken man trying his hardest to focus on a brighter future. She tells him everything that she remembers, a reward for giving her hope when she thought it was lost, and gradually the blank spaces of her past begin to fill with colour. She can tell from the way that he looks at her when she starts to talk about the love she felt for a family that she’ll never see again, that his world is nothing now but shades of grey. Kara knows it’s his burden to bear and he’s not strong enough to carry the load of both their failures. 

 

She talks about nothing but the future after that.

 

They start to get complacent, forget that there’s a world outside that still remembers that they exist. That they have sins to atone for. It happens on a Thursday evening, heralded by the quietest of taps on the door. The sound is unexpected; they don’t exactly advertise their location. Ward gets to his feet, fingers curling around the grip of the gun that lies, ever-present, at his elbow. He pulls the door open and it’s the second time that Kara’s seen her. She has a name to put to the face now though. _Skye_. She hears it in her mind, an echo of Ward’s voice; shouts that split the darkness and stop either of them from sleeping through the night.

 

Ward doesn't say a thing, just turns on his heel and goes back to what he was doing before their unexpected guest turned up. There’s a simple elegance in the way that he cleans their guns – the soft click of metal on metal - and methodically checks their go-bags every night, no matter what. Kara goes back to making dinner. It's a routine that they've slowly settled into -- it took Ward a while to be able to use his right arm normally and he couldn't pick up the pans for weeks after they got here (after the third time he 'cooked' toast for dinner she just took over). Kara likes the way that she feels as though she’s creating something instead of tearing the world down. It reminds her of the past that she no longer talks about.

 

Kara looks up and sees that Skye's still standing on the doorstep, hesitating, like she doesn't really know how she ended up here, staring at this warped version of domestic bliss. Her hair’s pulled up in a complicated braid, occasional strands escaping to frame a face that’s thinner than Kara remembers. Her skin’s pale, like she hasn’t seen the sun in weeks, and there's a look on her face that Kara would call jealousy, if she didn't know how absurd that was. Skye’s mouth is set in a stubborn line and her eyes glint with barely contained fury. 

 

She’s beautiful.

 

Even if she had no frame of reference, Kara would know exactly who Skye was from the way that Ward looks at her. Or, more accurately, studiously avoids looking at her at all. He's usually the master of his emotions -- it’s taken Kara months to feel her way through his silences -- but the longing he so clearly feels is written large in every move he makes. He's turned his back to Skye now, but if the girl doesn't understand how much that simple movement costs him then she's a fool. Kara watches as Skye takes a steadying breath and walks into the room, shutting the door behind her. 

 

Not a fool then.

 

 

Skye positions herself at the kitchen counter, scanning the room. Kara sees her note the exits and various objects that might prove valuable as weapons if required. She’s fast and she’s efficient, and it’s impressive. More impressive is the way that Skye simply waits, watches, as the two of them continue their routine as though she isn’t even there. It takes longer than Kara thinks it will for her to start to fidget. Kara doesn’t usually underestimate people like this. Skye is something of a surprise to her.

 

 

“I'm not sorry." Skye announces it to the room at large, and the silence stretches long enough to become awkward. Kara knows that none of them are in any doubt as to what Skye’s talking about. Kara wonders if what Skye imagines bears any resemblance to the reality of vivid hues of purple and green painted across a ribcage, punctuated with two precise spheres of crimson. Skye clears her throat and tries again, "I'm not here to ask you to forgive me."

 

 

"Never thought you were." Ward just keeps on cleaning his gun with a single-minded focus that Kara really admires. "So, in that case, why _are_ you here?"

 

 

"Nowhere else to go." And, well, Kara thinks that there isn't a single person in the room who doesn't know how that feels. Ward’s hands still at their task for a bare fraction of a second, before resuming the deft reassembly of the shooting mechanism. Kara would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking for some sort of tell.

 

 

"How did you find us?" Kara’s the one to speak this time, since Ward's not talking. She feels as though it's kind of her duty, some bizarre penance for nearly killing the girl the last time they met.

 

 

"He was my SO." Skye says it with a shrug, as though that explains everything. Kara can tell from the way that the corners of Skye’s mouth turn up in a mockery of a smile, not reaching her eyes, that it probably does. "I was worried when the dead birds stopped coming... Thought maybe my aim was off." Twenty-three minutes, almost to the second, after she walks though the door and, if Ward's reaction is anything to go by, her aim's dead on.

 

 

"Is that right?" Ward's voice is even, giving nothing away. Kara's kind of impressed.

 

 

"C'mon, Ward, admit it. Part of you was impressed that I didn't hit anything important, right?" This time the smile is positively malicious, laced with hurt around the edges, dripping venom.

 

 

"You're playing with fire here, you know that? I'm your _enemy_ , Skye, remember?" Ward places his gun on the table between them. Kara doesn’t think that it’s a coincidence that he lays it down with the grip facing Skye, an open invitation that she doesn’t accept. Kara wonders if Ward would just sit there with the same look of barely contained need on his face if Skye picked up the gun and finished what she started. She’s grateful that Skye doesn’t make them find out.

 

 

The two of them manage to hold eye contact for long enough that Kara’s starting to feel uncomfortable. Then a shadow crosses Skye's face, and she's making her excuses and heading for the door. Kara would ask Ward what the hell all of that was about, but he's already half-way across the room, headed for their makeshift gym, and she knows that she won't be getting any sensible answers out of him tonight. Moments later she hears the sound of flesh on leather and she wonders if they’ll ever be able to escape the ties that bind them to their past mistakes.

 

 

+++++

 

If Ward’s surprised when Skye shows up as they’re sitting down to breakfast the next morning, he doesn’t show it. Kara watches as he pushes a mug of coffee towards Skye -- dash of milk and half a spoonful of sugar -- before going back to buttering his toast. Skye regards him over the edge of the cup, eyes narrowed as though she’s trying to work something out. Kara wonders if Skye realises that Ward’s managed to make her coffee the exact same shade as her eyes. He’s studying the paper as though it contains the secrets of the universe and, not for the first time, Kara wonders how he’s managing not to stare at Skye. 

 

Kara realises that they’re settling into a new routine. Weeks pass and Skye appears most days, always unannounced. It seems as though it’s a game that she and Ward are playing, but neither of them thought to tell Kara the rules. She wonders if, in fact, there even are any rules. Lately it’s beginning to feel as though this is an elaborate game of ‘chicken’ and each of them is just waiting for the other to be the first to blink. 

 

Sometimes Skye's only there for a few minutes. Sometimes hours. Lately it seems as though it's hours more often than not. It starts small, an offer to clear the table, but slowly Skye starts to help without asking first. Before Kara can even work out how, Skye’s sitting on the counter, sneaking a hand out to snag chopped vegetables as though she belongs there. Skye starts offering advice on everything from stir-fries to home appliances and the first time she throws her head back and really laughs, Kara thinks she knows why Ward stares at Skye like she’s the sun. 

 

Skye treats her as though she’s just another person to befriend; as though she’s not an imposter wearing another woman’s face. Skye tells her that it's creepy hearing _not_ -May talk to Ward as though she doesn't want to kill him. Kara can't seem to get a read on her. Skye acts as though everything's a joke waiting to be told, but there are brutal dark circles under her eyes and Kara recognizes a mask when she sees one. She wonders if Skye ever sleeps. She knows that Ward barely does any more. She hears him wandering through the apartment most nights, catches him checking his go-bag at three in the morning. Kara wonders if he's really going to run. What he's running from. _Who_.

 

+++++

 

Skye shows up one morning, take-out tray of coffees in hand, and Kara can’t keep it to herself any longer, asks Skye where she's supposed to be. Skye just shrugs a shoulder and says that she's 'off duty'. That there's business being taken care of that she can't be trusted with any more. Kara sees the liquid in the cups shake slightly, tiny circles erupting across the surface. It only lasts a moment and she thinks nothing more of it. Kara doesn’t press, doesn’t want to jeopardize the fledgling friendship that they’re forging. Honestly, she doesn’t want to lose Skye. The girl’s like an addiction, and she wonders how Ward’s managing not to dive headfirst into temptation.

 

 

Skye walks into the gym one morning, one hand tightly and efficiently bound, the other wrap hanging lose around her wrist. 

 

"This is sloppy, Skye. You can do better." Ward's hands are efficient, wrapping and tying, instinct making him carelessly close the distance he’s been so careful to keep between them for all these weeks.

 

"I did." Skye's words make Ward freeze and Kara has to turn her face away. She doesn't need to witness this -- the way that their broken pieces slowly fit together, their scars a matching constellation of violence painted on skin.

 

"She's still got you favoring your left." Ward’s voice is even and Kara doesn't know what it costs him to say. She suspects that she'll never know, and she’s glad for it. Kara decides that she doesn't need to be here to see this particular dance begin.

 

"She does. Says you never know when to expect the unexpected." There's the loud _thud_ of a body hitting mats. The room shakes for a moment and Kara stumbles against the door frame.

 

"Sound advice. You should pay attention. It was always one of your weaknesses." Ward's words sound harsh, but there's laughter hidden in his voice if you know where to look. Kara can’t work out if the tightening in her chest, making her breath catch in her throat, is joy or sorrow. She softly closes the door on Skye’s cry of exaggerated outrage.

 

+++++

 

 

It starts with something as small as shared training sessions. Ward’s pushing Skye to her limits and then forcing her past them, demanding that she master a control of her own body that will finally satisfy him. At the beginning, Kara simply watches as she runs through her own workout, but gradually realises that she has advice to offer. Kara knows how May fights, and she can see in the way that Skye positions herself that she's learned her lessons well. Kara circles Skye again and again as she faces off against Ward, adjusts her stance, moves a hand an inch to the left. 

 

But where May is all economy of movement and efficiency, Skye's somehow different. There's a recklessness about the way she throws herself into battle. As though it doesn't matter if she comes out alive, as long as someone does. Kara's seen it before, in the way that Ward throws his fists at the punching bag when he thinks nobody's watching. As though he has everything to prove and nothing left to live for. She watches it play out in front of her, a flurry of kicks and punches that leaves Skye and Ward gasping, a brutal honesty choreographed for the world to see if only they knew it. Kara wonders how the two of them ended up like this. Wonders if they know how alike they really are.

 

It's nine weeks to the day that Skye first showed up on their doorstep, when she walks in with bruises painting one side of her face, a bloodstain on her sleeve, and a bottle of whiskey clutched in her hand.

 

"Bad day at the office?" Kara's there alone, making dinner. Ward's off on some mystery mission that he refuses to talk about. Kara privately thinks that he's been trailing Skye. It's obvious that something’s seriously wrong, but Skye's not talking.

 

"Could say that." Skye’s attempt at light-hearted falls flat, as she hisses a breath passed clenched teeth, features contorting in pain.

 

"Want to talk about it?" Kara remembers this dance from before. From Ward.

 

"What do you remember about SHIELD?" Skye asks. They don’t talk about SHIELD as a rule. Kara feels as though they’re living under a flag of truce in the middle of a battlefield -- one false move could blow you apart -- and she _likes_ this life they’ve created. Talking about the world outside seems as though it’s tempting fate.

 

Her time in SHIELD feels as though it happened in another lifetime to a different person. Kara feels as though she's clearly split into a 'before' and 'after'. She honestly doesn't even know which parts of her are real any more. But Kara tries to remember what is true. She tries for the broken girl she can see before her, a brutal crack running straight through the middle of her soul, just waiting to split it apart, if you know where to look. 

 

Kara takes a deep breath and prays, for the first time in years, to a God she barely believes in, that she’s making the right decision. She tells Skye about missions. Kills. About the times that things went terribly wrong. That ‘collateral damage’ isn't just a phrase for the enemy. Skye sits, passive, taking it all in. She nods, once, as Kara says that she felt as though she never had a purpose, adrift for half her life. And Kara tells Skye that she's mostly through all of that now, but every so often she feels lost without a mission. Without orders. 

 

"The orders were what made it easy. What gave me a focus. The world made sense with orders." It's something that was true even before Whitehall, but Kara doesn't know if Skye's ready to hear that yet.

 

They just sit for a moment, facing each other across a table that suddenly feels as though it stretches for miles. Kara grabs up the bottle of whiskey that sits between them and pours them both another drink, dark liquid spilling over the rim of the glass. She notices that her hands are shaking. Kara feels as though the room's vibrating at a frequency she can just sense in her bones, putting her on edge. Her eyes tell her that nothing's moving, but the world feels as though it's about to tip off its axis. 

 

Then Skye starts to talk and, just like that, the sensation goes. Skye barely pauses for breath as the story pours out of her. She tells Kara that she's allowed to train with the team, but that mission parameters are decided without her. That she sometimes loses control and people get hurt, and she doesn't know how to make it stop. That the only place she hasn't lost control is right here in these five rooms. That she's on a list and she's not the person she was before and Coulson tells her that it's to keep her safe, but she feels like a rat in a cage and she doesn't know how to live like that. She had a family, but now it's falling apart and she needs to know that you can be alone and still keep going. Eventually Skye’s words come to an end and they're sitting in silence again, both of them with tear-tracks damp on their cheeks. Kara doesn't know how to tell Skye that she's not alone. Doesn't think that it's her place.

 

Skye's pouring her third double of the night with shaky hands when he walks in. Ward takes one look at her and crosses the distance between them faster than Kara would have believed possible. His fingers hover just above the purple and blue flowering on her cheek, before drifting down to pull up her sleeve, looking for the source of the blood.

 

"Bad day at the office?" Ward’s question is an echo of hers, and Kara wonders if it belonged to him all along. It's the most gentle Kara's ever heard him. She makes herself as unobtrusive as possible, slides towards the door.

 

"It's nothing. Just a flesh wound. Don't worry about it." Skye’s smile is brittle, nothing like the one that makes Kara’s heart lift when she sees it.

 

"Skye.” His voice actually cracks as he says her name. “Please…” Ward tails off as though he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Kara's almost at the door, but she risks a glance back over her shoulder. It’s not as though they're going to notice anyway.

 

"Can I..." Skye pauses, fixes Ward with a stare that makes Kara feel like she’s intruding on something deeply personal. Skye nods as though she's making up her mind about something, before she continues, "buy you a drink?"

 

The words are barely out of Skye's mouth before she’s pushing herself up off the chair, fingers fisting in the front of Ward's shirt. Kara finally drags her eyes from them and turns away. She doesn't need to see the way that their barely-healed scars open under each others' fingers. Doesn't need to see the shared past written across their skin.

 

+++++

 

Everything changes after that. It was bound to. Kara's so quiet that Ward and Skye have a tendency to forget that she's even there and they start to get careless. Kara returns from a mission and walks into the kitchen to be brought up short by the sight before her. Skye’s propped up on the counter, head tipped back, long neck exposed, dark strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. She’s gasping Ward’s name, breath coming in short bursts, the fingers of one hand pinching a nipple and the other twisting in Ward’s hair where his head is buried between her thighs. Kara knows she should leave, but she’s fixed to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

 

Skye’s keening, high-pitched and breathless, hitching her hips closer to Ward’s face as she, quite clearly, chases her own release. Ward chuckles, one arm pulling her hips towards him, and the other snaking up between them. Kara watches, fascinated at the play of muscle under smooth skin, the way his ribcage flares with every shuddered breath. She can just see the raised edges of his freshly-healed wounds, a violent reflection of the white scars on Skye’s toned stomach. 

 

Skye’s back arches, one hand slamming down onto the countertop as the room starts to shake, fingers of the other hand tightening at the back of Ward’s head. Skye’s mumbling nonsense, a jumbled mess of _fuck_ and _Grant_ and _so close_ , and Kara’s mouth is completely dry. She can hear her own pulse, pounding unevenly in her ears, and she feels a bolt of longing shoot to her core as Skye moans, breathy and uneven. Ward growls, low and rough, and Kara feels herself growing wet with desire. She’s unable to look away as she backs slowly, silently, from the room, Skye’s screams of release echoing in her ears.

 

Kara manages to make it to her own room, collapsing onto the bed before she slides her eyes closed and slips her pants and soaked underwear to the floor. She’s already balanced on a knife-edge and she shudders as she drags a finger across her clit, before sliding her fingers lower, curling them up inside. She tries to conjure up images of all the girls and boys that came before, but all she can see is Skye’s face, lit up with _want_ , and all she can hear is Ward’s voice saying Skye’s name like a fucking prayer. 

 

Kara’s rough with herself, fast, deft fingers slipping in and out, skating over her clit, the other hand roaming slowly across her body. She feels her orgasm coiled at the base of her spine before tumbling her over the edge into shuddering release. As Kara lies there, aftershocks dancing across her body, she decides she seriously needs to get her own place. She doesn’t think it’ll do a lot for team dynamics if Ward finds out that she’s imagining Skye falling apart underneath her. Also there’s no way she's cooking dinner on that counter again.

 

+++++

 

Some weeks later Kara finds herself face-to-face with May in downtown Manhattan. Kara’s only there to take down a gifted who's decided that killing a person is more fun than just playing with fire. It's a one-woman job. Only now there are two women. With one face. Kara would find it amusing if it wasn't so goddamn tragic. She decides to try talking first. Fighting Melinda May didn't go so well for her the first time. Although Skye's taught her some tricks since then.

 

"Melinda May. Fancy seeing you here. Come to cross another gifted off?" Kara’s tone is mocking. She can’t help it. It still smarts that she lost their first round.

 

"He's dangerous." May’s voice is calm, her face devoid of emotion.

 

"But worth a second chance?" Kara can hear Skye’s voice in her head. The way that it broke when she told them that there were no second chances. Not for people like her. Not really.

 

"What are you talking about?" May’s features briefly marshal themselves into confusion, but it’s gone in a flash, and her features smooth out into a composed mask once more.

 

"I hear that it's your mission statement these days. Honesty. Integrity. ‘Collateral damage’ is just a nasty catch-phrase and nothing to do with the new SHIELD. You’re just one big, happy family." Kara knows she sounds pissed. 

 

"We need to stop this guy before he gets out of hand." Trust May to avoid the real issues. Kara doesn’t remember her avoiding the obvious like this -- before.

 

"Any means necessary?" Kara asks. She’s done pretending.

 

"If that's what it takes." May’s voice is steel, polished until it shines with a tone of righteousness.

 

"You know that you sound a lot like Hydra, right? Same shit, different logo. You guys didn't even get a catchy slogan. Coulson left me behind, _Agent_ May. Left me to become _this_." Kara gestures at her face. She sounds furious. She _is_ furious. "Coulson's no better than Whitehall and, deep down, you know it." She can see the other woman's jaw clench. Knows the hit landed.

 

"You don't know what you're talking about." May sounds as though she’s even got herself convinced.

 

"I know a lot more than you think. For example, I know you’ve got an agent on your hands who’s feeling a lot like she’s next on your little hit-list. I know that the new SHIELD looks a lot like the old one if you tilt your head just a little to the side. I also know that I walked in on ex-Agent of SHIELD Grant Ward stripping a girl who looks a lot like current-Agent of SHIELD Skye this morning. Didn't you wonder where she’d gotten to or why she’d started to smile again? Didn’t you notice that she's got a few new tricks?" Kara grins and she doesn't even see the blow coming.

 

++++

 

Skye freaks out when Kara finally wins her battle to wrestle open the door of the apartment. Even Ward looks concerned, and it makes the agonizing pain that lances through her chest with every stuttering breath almost worth it. Skye’s pushing her down onto the couch and thrusting an ice-pack and a couple of pain killers into her hand as Ward sloshes amber liquid into a glass. Skye perches precariously on the arm of the couch, her fingers reaching for Ward, a search for reassurance that Kara’s noticed is becoming habit.

 

“What the hell happened?” Ward’s the first to speak. Skye’s face is pale and she looks like she’s a second away from throwing up. Kara knows how she feels.

 

“Melinda May and I had a slight difference of opinion about the relative merits of secret agencies. It’s possible that I also wasn’t anticipating her reaction to the news that you two were, well, you know.” Kara tails off as she realizes that the combination of pain and alcohol has made her share more than she intended.

 

“You told her?” A low-frequency vibration weaves its way across the room as Skye speaks. It makes Kara’s broken ribs scream in protest.

 

“Skye. Focus.” Ward’s voice is gentle, a caress that makes Kara suddenly feel as though they’re going to survive. Skye’s head whips round to face him and Kara sees the skin around Skye’s knuckles fade to white as her grip on Ward’s hand tightens. 

 

“Sorry.” The room stills as Skye turns back to Kara. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. She pushed my buttons. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Kara holds the icepack to her shoulder, relishing the harsh bite of the cold on bruised flesh. She wishes that it was this easy to numb the pain of the thoughts that rush through her mind. She didn’t expect seeing May to upset her this much. Didn’t anticipate the surge of bitter recriminations that rushed, unbidden, to her tongue.

 

“I bet she was pissed.” Skye tries to laugh, but to Kara’s ears it comes out as something closer to a sob. Kara’s suddenly furious all over again. She can tell from the way that Ward pulls Skye up against him and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead that she’s not the only one desperate for Skye to finally feel as though she belongs again. Family, after all, is what they choose to make it.

 

“You’re probably grounded.” Kara’s eyes are beginning to slide closed, the alcohol and analgesics finally doing their job. The last thing she sees is a genuine smile lighting up Skye’s face. Kara finally allows herself to fall asleep to the sound of Skye’s quiet chuckles.


End file.
